


Is that what they listen to in Missouri?

by PoorWendy



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Canon!Peter, Dirty Basement Show AU, House Party, M/M, Mortal!Thor, weird timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-06-11 06:29:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15309462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoorWendy/pseuds/PoorWendy
Summary: The thing is, Peter always kind of thought he'd visit Terra again to find his family, retrace his lineage. Something like that.But here he is, in a dirty, smelly basement, nowhere near Missouri, watching a three-piece rock band playway too loud. Even if they are kind of awesome.





	1. @revengersmusic

**Author's Note:**

> For ThorQuill Week - Day 7: AU
> 
> Don't squint too hard at the weird timeline. Or if you do just imagine Peter & the Ravagers fell into some wonky time-stuff. At any rate, we have a canon!Peter who's house-party-age-appropriate-ish in 2018. But he still left Earth in '88. Somehow. Like I said, don't squint too hard.
> 
> Rating subject to change in later chapters.

The sun’s setting. It’s almost down, really, painting the sky all pink and orange and deep purple-blue. Peter tries not to get too sentimental about it. It’s the first sunset he’s seen on this planet since he was eight years old. That was almost twenty years ago.

He gave Yondu the slip not long after they landed in a field earlier today, not wanting to follow him and Kraglin around on his first trip back.

The thing is, Peter always kind of thought he'd visit Terra again to find his family, retrace his lineage. Something like that.

But now he's here, and he's nowhere near Missouri, and he’s walking some streets he’s never seen before, trying to find something enticing enough to pique his interest.

Oddly enough, it’s just a house. Well, not _just_ a house. A house booming with music, and a lot of cars parked out front and all down the street, and people somewhere around his age littering the lawn. It has the smell of a real Terran experience.

He wanders in through the side door behind some guys in black t-shirts, ducking out of the way of a staircase as someone carries a huge amplifier into the basement.

He follows him down to a dank, half-finished basement, cluttered with people and string-lights and discarded red cups. The guy with the amp stumbles on the way to some little clearing among a few pieces of a drum set and some speakers.

“Hey, whoa, need a hand?” Peter says, stepping up to help him steady it and set it down on the floor.

The guy groans, stands up, wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “Thanks, man,” he says.

Some dude in a plaid flannel approaches Peter. “Hey, thanks for coming. You got five bucks to support the artists?”

“Uh,” Peter answers awkwardly. It’s not like he’s broke but he can’t exactly transfer the guy units. He doesn’t think.

The guy who was carrying the amp cuts in. “He’s with us.” Peter smiles. Sometimes it pays to be the nice guy. “He’s helping me with the equipment.”

“Alright. Here,” flannel-dude says, holding up a black marker, “let me mark you so I don’t forget and bother you again.”

Peter nods, holds out his hand, lets flannel-dude draw a little _x_ on it before walking away to bug some other folks headed down the stairs.

“Thanks,” Peter says.

“No problem. Could use the help,” the guy says, and holds out a hand. “Bruce,” he says.

Peter shakes it. “Peter,” he offers. “Got a lot more equipment?”

Bruce shrugs. “Another amp and the rest of the kit,” he says, motioning toward the drums. “Not sure how I always get stuck carrying everything myself. My buddy’s the one with all the muscles.”

Peter nods. “Well, I can definitely help.”

“Cool,” Bruce says. “The rest is up in my van.”

Peter follows him upstairs.

They haul down the second amp together and take a couple more trips for a floor tom, a snare, a bass drum, and a high-hat. By the time they head upstairs so Bruce can move the van, it’s properly dark out. Bruce parks down the block and heads around the back, opens a cooler, gets two beers out and tosses one to Peter.

“Oh, thanks,” Peter says happily.

“Of course,” Bruce says, twisting the cap off his own. “You were way more help than the rest of my band. They better get here soon, we’re supposed to go on at 8:30. Although apparently this guy’s parties always get behind schedule. Have you been here before?”

“Oh,” Peter starts, “no. I’m, uh. I’m not from around here.”

“Oh wow. Where are you from?” he asks.

“Missouri,” Peter answers. It’s technically the truth.

“Damn,” Bruce says. “Long trip.”

Peter laughs. “Yeah, you have no idea. But I’ve been traveling.”

Peter hears a buzzing from inside the van. “Oh, Jesus, where’s my phone?” Bruce mutters, climbing in. “That better be Thor,” he says, groping at the floor until he picks up… shit, is that what phones look like now? He slides his finger across it and puts it to his ear. “Dude, where are you?” Sorry, he mouths to Peter, and Peter waves his hand and shakes his head, takes another sip of his beer. “God, can’t you just Google it? I already hauled all our shit down to the basement _by myself_ —” he makes a face at Peter, and Peter grins “—and now I gotta give you directions?”

Peter laughs a little, quietly, and sticks a thumb over his shoulder, pointing back at the house. Bruce nods, and Peter turns and makes his way inside.

\---

The house is tiny, but Peter still doesn’t quite understand why the bands are playing in the basement. There was _definitely_ more room upstairs, yet there’s two-dozen sweaty bodies (maybe more) crammed into this dirty, smelly basement, watching Bruce’s three-piece rock band play way too loud. Even if they're sort of awesome.

The singer is playing lead guitar, but between songs she’s always got a bottle of whiskey in her hand. Bruce is drumming shirtless and there are veins throbbing in his head and neck.

But the one Peter can't stop watching is the over-muscled bass-player. Thor, Peter thinks, remembering what Bruce said while he was on the phone earlier. He's got a backwards cap over his long, blonde hair. He's got on a Led Zepplin shirt with the sleeves torn off, ridiculous denim cut-offs, tall white socks, and beat-up sneakers. He's sweating and his fingers are moving quickly and deftly over the neck of his instrument. And he's handsome. Like, he's movie-star, cowboy, Playgirl Magazine handsome. His biceps are _gigantic_. Peter tries to remember to keep his mouth shut.

"You like them?" some skinny guy with greasy black hair shouts beside him.

Peter nods. I mean, he's not going to say no. "Yeah, they're great," he answers just as loudly.

"They just finished a tour," the guy shouts. "Just got in from Connecticut." Peter nods again, like he totally knows where Connecticut is.

"Cool," Peter shouts.

"They're on Instagram," the guy offers. Peter nods. Like he knows what Instagram is. "You can follow them, revengersmusic."

“Revengers?” Peter shouts back.

The guy nods. “Revengers,” he repeats.

"What's with the name?" Peter shouts. This guy is kind of a superfan, he guesses.

The guy rolls his eyes. "My brother's idea. He's a good bass player but he's not exactly a poet."

Peter's jaw does drop this time. He takes a proper look at the guy. He's tall and lean, pale skin standing out against a black button-down and black jeans and boots. " _That's_ your brother?"

The guy rolls his eyes again. "Yeah," he says.

"Huh," Peter muses, quieter, to himself.

The guy nods and hands him a sticker. “Enjoy,” he says, and turns to the girls standing on his other side, doubtlessly to give them the same whole spiel.

Peter just drinks more beer and watches. Listens. They’re sort of amelodic. It’s harder music than he usually listens to. He tries to imagine his mother at this party, wonders what she’d think.

They play a handful of songs, and Peter’s done with his drink and awkwardly holding the empty cup by the time they’ve finished and the singer is saying, “Alright, thanks guys. We’re the Revengers. Got shirts and CDs back there, stickers, pins. ‘Bunch of shit. I think the Edge is starting up in like, 20 minutes?” she asks, scanning the crowd. Peter follows her eyeline to some dude in the back, who sticks his thumb up in the air. “Yeah, so be sure to check them out.”

Somebody, somewhere, turns on some other music and the party falls back into motion, and Peter finds himself gawking again at the bass-player, who’s now taking off his lightning-bolt-decaled instrument and turning to Bruce, laughing about something.

Peter gets himself to stop staring and makes his way back upstairs with his empty cup. Apparently, the _x_ on his hand also entitled him to a red cup, which he can fill at the keg as many times as he’d like. Which is a lot. Because this stuff is kind of weak.

He waits in line for the keg, is dismayed to hear a girl ahead of him complain that it’s “mostly foam.”

“Hey man!” a voice comes from behind him. He turns and Bruce is standing there, pulling his t-shirt back on. “Did you hear us?”

Peter smiles and nods. “Yeah, you were great!” he says, enthusiastic just to have someone to talk to.

“Thanks!” Bruce hollers at him, adrenaline from their performance still clearly coursing. “Hey, if you want, we got a lot more beer in the cooler in the van, still. Val and Thor brought more with them. It’s better than this piss,” he says, nodding to the keg.

“Really? That’d be great,” he agrees, and follows Bruce to the door and out into the yard. “So how long have you guys been playing together?” he asks.

“God,” Bruce says, musing. “I guess like, five years now? We all met in college. Well, Thor and Val went to the same high school, but they didn’t know each other then. We started the Revengers a couple months before Val graduated. She was a year above me and Thor.”

“That’s cool,” Peter says as they round the corner. “Thor’s brother was saying you guys were on tour, have you done that a lot?”

Bruce laughs. “Loki gave you the hard sell, huh? We kick him a cut of the gigs he books us. Which is like, I don’t know. Half of ‘em, maybe. But no, we’ve only toured twice. It’s not really that glamorous. We live in the van and on people’s couches and stuff. At least this time it was just the east coast. Last time we went west. I don’t know how people do it in those landlocked states,” he laughs. Then he stops and looks at Peter. “Oh, no offense.”

Peter laughs. “It’s okay. I’m not into the landlocked thing either.”

They get to the van and Bruce pulls open the back doors. It’s pretty much empty besides the cooler now. “Ugh,” he says, sitting down, opening the cooler. “Thor is totally carrying all that shit back up on his own later.” He tosses Peter another beer. Peter catches it, still awkwardly hanging on to his plastic cup. “Oh, here, just throw that in here. We got a bunch of trash to get rid of anyway.”

“Yeah?” Peter asks.

“Yeah,” Bruce says. Peter tosses it in the van and sits down beside Bruce, opens his beer, takes a sip. Yeah. It’s a lot better than whatever was in the keg.

“Thanks, man,” Peter says. It’s hot. He takes his jacket off and puts it behind him in the van. He kind of felt out-of-place wearing it anyway. Even if the people inside were dressed a little weird. It’s almost like they used to dress when Peter left Terra, but not quite. Once-removed.

They sit for a minute, talking about music and the party and anything that comes up. Eventually, Thor and the singer, Val, stroll up.

“God, that basement is disgusting. I reek of weed,” Val is complaining, tying her flannel around her waist. “Who’s this?” she asks, taking her bottle of whiskey from Thor and swigging from it.

“Peter,” Peter offers awkwardly.

“Yeah,” Bruce says, “he helped me haul all the equipment downstairs so I’m letting him drink all of Thor’s beer.”

Peter raises his eyebrows nervously, but Thor just laughs. “It’s alright. Help yourself.”

Peter relaxes a little. God, this guy is stupidly good-looking. And now Peter knows his voice is really sweet and warm. And that he’s nice. Well, at least nice enough to let Peter drink his beer. “Thanks,” he says, and takes another sip.

“Thor,” Thor says, holding out his hand. Peter shakes it. “This is Val,” he says then, letting go and motioning to her.

Peter reaches out and she shakes his hand too. “You guys were awesome down there,” Peter says.

“Thanks,” Val says. “We’re more awesome when we’re not in an unfinished basement,” she laughs, “but thanks. Bruce, the Edge drummer can’t figure out how to adjust the throne. Can you come help him?”

Bruce rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure,” he groans, gets back on his feet. “Back in a bit,” he says to Peter and Thor, and follows Val back down the block toward the house.

“So what brings you to this mess of a party, Peter?” Thor asks, taking a seat beside him, reaching back into the cooler for a beer.

Peter shrugs. “Honestly, I was sick of the people I was traveling with and needed to get away from them for a bit. So I wandered off until I found something interesting.”

Thor laughs. “And this is the best you could come up with?”

Peter grins. “Pretty much just walked until I heard music.”

“Fair enough,” Thor answers, takes a sip of his beer. “Where were you traveling from?”

“Oh,” Peter starts, “all over. I haven’t really lived in once place since Missouri when I was a kid.”

Thor nods. “Mysterious stranger,” he observes.

Peter laughs at that. “I guess so.”

“Well, thanks for helping Bruce with everything earlier,” he says. “Very cool of you. Don’t have much besides beer to offer you for that. T-shirt? Sticker?” Thor offers, laughing.

Peter digs into his pocket, pulls out the sticker from earlier. “I actually got one already.”

Thor smiles wide at that. “Oh, so you met my brother.”

“Yep,” Peter says.

“You must know all about us, then.”

“Let’s see,” Peter says, thinking. “I know you just got back from Connecticut, and you’re on Instagram, and that you were the one who came up with the name Revengers,” he says, and swigs his beer. “Oh, and that you’re apparently not a poet,” he adds.

Thor laughs. “What a bastard. But yeah. Check, check, check, check.”

“You play really well,” Peter offers.

“Thanks,” Thor says. "My mother made me play standing bass when I was a kid in school. Electric is a lot more fun, though.”

“I bet,” Peter agrees.

“God, I’m starving,” Thor says, then. “You hungry?”

“I could eat,” Peter says, really excited at this idea until he remembers he doesn’t have any money. “Ah,” he starts, “I actually am, uh, kinda broke.” It sucks to have to say that. It’s the first outright lie he’s told tonight.

“Eh,” Thor says, waving a hand dismissively. “I got you. There’s a burger place a couple blocks away that’s pretty good. You like burgers?”

Damn, Peter hasn’t had a proper hamburger in twenty years. “I _love_ burgers,” he says, finishing his beer.

Thor upends his bottle and finishes his too, then reaches into the cooler for more, cans this time. He piles a few into a backpack. “You’re not driving, are you?” Thor asks. Peter shakes his head. He zips up the backpack and takes two more out of the cooler before closing it. “For the road,” he says, handing one to Peter. Peter takes it.


	2. Cheap Date

The place is called _the Hole,_ and they exchange stupid, dirty jokes accordingly. They sit and order three burgers (Peter insisted he was okay with one, even if Thor said he always wants more, which is unsurprising, given his size) and some fries to go. Thor tells him they can eat outside that way, at one of the little wrought iron tables outside. Thor tells him they can’t drink beers inside. Well, Thor tells him, they can’t really drink them outside anyway. But the owner doesn’t mind if they do, and as long as they’re cool, the cops probably won’t bother them.

Peter learned a bit about Thor on their way over. Like how Thor played rugby in college, and studied political science and folklore and mythology. And how he and Loki fought a lot as kids, but have gotten closer since they’ve gotten older. And how Thor has a dog named Geri.

Peter would like to share more about himself in return, but he gets the feeling Thor is as oblivious to intergalactic travel as Peter was when he was abducted at the age of eight. So he mostly just listens.

Thor pays for their food and grabs a bottle of ketchup and they go to sit outside. Peter might not be as bulky as Thor is, but he’s nearly as tall, and the two of them crowd the the tiny table, their knees bumping against one another underneath. Peter’s already drank enough not to feel weird about it. Also, Thor doesn’t seem to mind. It makes Peter feel very warm.

Peter might be a little biased, and a little tipsy, and a little overcome with being back on Terra for the first time in two decades, but this hamburger is the greatest thing he’s tasted in his entire fucking life. He devours it, enjoys it too much to pause for a moment, answering any questions through a big mouthful.

“Oh my _god,_ man,” Peter says through one of them. “This is like, so fucking good. Thank you _so_ much.”

Thor shrugs. “Really, it’s no problem. A burger and some fries? You’re a cheap date.”

Peter manages to take an actual breath between bites at that. “Date?” he asks, heart in his throat.

Thor smiles, nods, stops smiling. “Unless,” he starts, “I guess I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“No,” Peter interrupts. “No, that’s—I’m _fine_ with that.”

Thor smiles again, takes another bite of his burger. “Well, good,” he says, chewing. “Almost broke my heart there.” Peter blushes, pulls his beer can up from between his knees and takes a sip, not knowing at all how to answer that without being a complete loser. “So,” Thor says, swallowing, “since this is really a date, then, I feel like I should get to learn some stuff about you, too.”

Peter nods. “Okay, I guess that’s fair.”

“So, family? Brothers? Sisters?” Thor asks.

Peter sighs. “No brothers or sisters. My, uh, my mom died when I was eight,” he says.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry,” Thor says.

“Nah, it’s alright. I mean, well, you know. It is what it is. She had cancer. I never met my dad.”

“That’s awful,” Thor says. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks,” Peter says.

There’s some silence. “Guess I sort of spoiled the mood,” Thor says.

Peter laughs. “It’s really okay,” he says. “I learned to live with it. It’s been twenty years. I’m sorry I’m not talking about myself more. I’ve had kind of an unconventional life, I guess.”

“I’d like to hear about it,” Thor says.

Peter sighs. What is he supposed to say? _I ran away and got abducted by aliens? I’ve been traveling with an actual band of thieves through actual outer space since I was eight years old?_. “Maybe after a few more drinks,” he says finally, and takes another sip of his beer.

Thor nods. “I’ll check in with you later, then,” he says, smirking. Peter smiles.

“You’re on,” he agrees. “Might be more than you bargained for.”

Thor grins. “Well, then, I’ll _definitely_ check in with you later.”

Peter laughs and stuffs the last bite of his burger into his mouth.

\---

They each have another beer on the way back from _the Hole_. “Thanks again,” Peter says, for probably the third or fourth time.

Thor laughs. “Like I said,” he says, turns to look at Peter as they walk, “cheap date.”

Peter has to look away, smiles at his feet. He feels Thor’s fingers brush against his and lets him hold his hand. It’s all very sweet. It’s sweet and also Peter kind of wants to drag Thor into one of the little alleys between the buildings they’ve been passing and stick his tongue down his throat. But holding hands is nice, too.

“Wonder what Val and Bruce have gotten up to. Hope they didn’t get into any fights,” Thor says.

“Bruce didn’t strike me as the fighting type,” Peter replies.

Thor laughs. “Well, it was different in college. Val likes to say ‘Bruce doesn’t start fights, but he can finish them,’” Thor says. “He used to have a lot of anger issues. Lot of guys learned that the hard way when we were still in school. Then he started meditating and doing all this yoga and, I don’t know. I guess his chakras are all aligned now, or something.”

Peter nods and laughs and pretends he knows what Thor’s talking about. “So Val starts the fights, then? I could see that.”

“Yeah she’s fierce,” Thor agrees. “She could fuck you up, too, don’t be fooled. She’s really strong. And fearless.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Peter says.

“She drinks too much,” Thor says. “Not all the time. In college she could almost drink me under the table.”

“I literally cannot believe that,” Peter says, eyeing Thor from head to toe.

Thor laughs. “Yeah. But she kept up. Now it’s mostly just when we’re performing. But she holds it well.”

Peter nods. “You guys are all really close, huh?”

“We are,” he says. “Even Loki. Sometimes it’s still weird between us, but mostly we’ve outgrown it.”

The party is still in full swing when they get back to the house. “Should we head back inside?” Peter asks, not at all wanting to head back inside.

Thor shrugs. “I still have some more beers in the backpack,” he says. “But, I don’t know. I like talking. And it’s gross in there,” he adds, and Peter laughs. “Want to stop back at the van for a bit?”

Peter nods, tries to look less eager than he is. “Yeah, sure. My jacket’s still in there, actually. And my Walkman.”

Thor laughs, eyes wide. “I’m sorry, your _what?”_

“My Walkman,” Peter says again, laughing along with him, even if he’s not sure why.

“Jesus, what year is it? Is that what they listen to in Missouri?” Thor asks.

Peter didn’t even think about that. Of all the things to give him away. “I told you,” he says, still giggling a little. “I don’t live in Missouri anymore.”

Thor nods. “I’m sorry,” he says, even though he’s still laughing. “Come on,” he says. “I’ve got to see this.”

They head back to the van and Thor opens up the back and climbs in. He grabs a couple more beers, sits down, leans against the wall. Peter climbs in after him, grabs his jacket, takes a seat close beside Thor. “You gonna keep laughing at me?” he asks.

“Probably,” Thor admits, handing one of the beers to him. “But I still really like you.”

Peter takes the can, blushing. At least it’s dark enough inside the van that Thor probably can’t tell. “Alright,” he agrees, puts the beer on the floor beside him, takes his Walkman out of his inside jacket pocket, untangles his headphones.

“Wow,” Thor says. “Unreal.”

“Have you never seen one or something?” Peter asks. “What’s the big deal?”

Thor shakes his head. “I actually don’t know if I ever saw one quite this old. I had one when I was little, though. It was a little different. It wasn’t so boxy. I don’t think I ever saw headphones like this.”

“Well, feast your eyes,” Peter says, and hands it over.

Thor handles it carefully, without Peter having to ask him too. “Can I?” Thor asks, stretching the headphones just so and bringing them toward his head. Peter nods. Thor puts them over his ears, squints to try and see the buttons on the side of the Walkman. Peter puts his fingers over Thor’s and guides him. They both hit _Play_ together.

Peter tries to remember where he left off, but he can’t. He leans really close to Thor to try and hear.

_Make me, baby, make me know you really care…_  
_Make me jump into the air…_  
_Keep your ‘lectric eye on me, babe…_

“Bowie,” Thor says, smiling. “Right?”

Peter lights up. He knows that he does. “Right,” he says.

“Is it all Bowie?” Thor asks, face so close to Peter’s he can smell the beer on his breath.

Peter shakes his head. “No,” he answers. “Just this song.”

“Pause it,” Thor says. Peter stops it. “I can put it on in the van,” he says. “Bruce has a tape deck adapter with an aux—” he cuts himself short, starts laughing.

“What?” Peter asks, laughing too. He can’t help but laugh when Thor does.

“Well, we have a tape deck adapter,” Thor says. “But I can just put the tape in the tape deck instead,” he laughs. Peter isn’t sure what he’s talking about, but he keeps laughing anyway. “Man. That’s wild.”

Peter nods. “Go ahead,” he says.

Thor crawls up between the driver’s and passenger seats, climbs between them, stretches down, and Peter wants to run his hands along Thor’s legs, his thighs…

Instead he moves to see what Thor’s up to. He hears a jingle, and Thor holds up a set of keys victoriously.

A few moments later, Thor’s reaching back, and Peter ejects his tape and hands it over. It’s his most prized possession, but he hands it over willingly. Another moment later, and the music is filling the van.

Thor climbs back to sit beside Peter again. “If I closed the doors,” Thor says, motioning to the back doors, “would that be, like, really predatory of me?”

Peter laughs. “No,” he says. “No, go ahead.”

Thor gets up to close them and comes and sits beside Peter again, listening. Eventually, David Bowie’s synthetic sound gives way to Elvin Bishop’s weeping guitar.

“This is one of my favorites,” Peter says, then laughs at himself a little bit. “Well,” he says correcting, “I guess I would say that about all of them.”

Thor smiles. “It’s pretty,” he says, and damn, if there isn’t just something about such a big, buff guy calling something ‘pretty.’ Peter lets himself scoot a little closer. “I think I’ve heard it before.”

“Yeah?”

“I think so,” Thor says again, and slides a little closer to Peter. “Who is it?”

“Elvin Bishop,” Peter answers.

Thor just nods, tips his head back, closes his eyes, listens. Peter tries to do the same, but his eyes won’t stay shut. They just want to keep looking at Thor. His stubbled jaw. His tangled, golden hair. But mostly, Peter’s staring at Thor’s mouth. He’s so busy staring that he jerks a little when he feels Thor’s fingers brush over his hand.

Thor’s eyes open. “Sorry,” he says.

Peter shakes his head, licks his lips, takes Thor’s hand. “No,” he says, relaxing again. Well, as relaxed as he can be right now. “I was just surprised.” Thor smiles at him, laces their fingers together.

“So what’s your deal?” Thor asks.

Peter laughs a little, relaxes a little more. “What do you mean?” he asks, even though he knows. He takes a sip of his beer. And then another sip. He can’t believe he’s going to tell Thor everything.

“You know. Your unconventional life,” Thor says, sips his own beer.

Peter shrugs, takes a breath. “Honestly?”

“Honestly.”


	3. Right. Space.

“Honestly…” Peter sighs, “my mom did die when I was eight. And when she died, I sort of ran out…” he trails off. It’s going to sound ridiculous.

“Like, ran away?” Thor asks, rubs a thumb against Peter’s hand.

Peter shakes his head. “I don’t think I was really trying to run away,” he says, although he’s wondered what would have happened if Yondu hadn’t showed up, wondered if he would have gotten back up and gone inside the hospital, or if he’d have gone… somewhere else. “But, the thing is, I sort of—” Jesus, how is he going to say this? What’s the gentle way? “There was all this light, all of a sudden, even though it was night. And I looked up, and I couldn’t even see what it was, really, it was just so much _light_.”

Thor cocks an eyebrow. “What happened?”

“I just… I floated right up.”

“You floated up,” Thor says. “Are you talking about, like, an alien abduction?”

Peter tilts his head, considering. “I guess that’s what it was.”

Thor thins his eyes suspiciously. “Come on,” he says, but he’s still holding Peter’s hand.

Peter shrugs. “You wanted the truth.”

“I want to believe you,” Thor says, earnestly, and then laughs. _“I want to believe,”_ he repeats, with a weird intonation. Peter gives him a confused look. “Like _the X-Files_ ,” Thor says, in some attempt to clarify.

Peter shrugs again. “I don’t know what that is. I don’t know what Instagram is, either, while we’re at it.”

“Alright,” Thor says, “let’s say you really were abducted by aliens.” Peter rolls his eyes. “What year was it?”

“It was 1988,” Peter says. “I was eight years old.”

“Okay,” Thor says, “but that was thirty years ago. You don’t look like you’re thirty-eight. _Are you_ thirty eight?”

Peter shakes his head. “It wasn’t thirty years ago. Not for me. It’s been twenty years. I’m pretty sure I’m twenty-eight.”

“You’re ‘pretty sure?’” Thor asks.

Peter rolls his eyes again. “Yeah, I mean, it wasn’t that easy to keep track. No Terran calendar, no sun.”

 _“What_ calender?”

“Terran. Terra. That’s what this planet is called.”

“You’re just fucking with me,” Thor says, shaking his head, starting to look a little disenchanted. It breaks Peter’s heart.

He sighs, takes his hand back, runs it through his hair, drinks more beer. “I’m not,” he says. “This is why I didn’t want to get into it.”

Thor looks so torn. Peter guesses he doesn’t blame him. He probably thinks Peter’s insane. “I’m sorry,” he offers, still looking skeptical. Then he looks down at the Walkman resting between Peter’s knees. “It would explain _that,”_ Thor admits. “Very _man-out-of-time.”_

Peter wishes he hadn’t left everything back on the Milano. At the time, judging by the view, he really didn’t think he’d need his blasters or any gravity mines. He didn’t think about having someone to impress.

_The Milano._

“I could show you,” Peter says, really just thinking aloud.

“Show me what?” Thor asks.

Peter swallows. “My ship.”

“Your ship?” Thor asks, eyebrows raised in amusement. “What, like, the one that took you?”

Peter shakes his head. “No. _My_ ship. It’s not that far,” Peter says, trying to remember exactly how long he’d been walking. It wasn’t all that far, not really.

“Where is it?” Thor asks, still skeptical.

“It’s in a field.”

“You must know how weird it is for you to ask me to follow you to a field to see your spaceship,” Thor points out.

Peter considers. “Well, when you say it like _that…”_ Thor laughs. A real, sweet laugh. It puts Peter at ease. “Look,” Peter starts. “You don’t have to. You can absolutely kick me out of your van, write me off as the crazy guy you met after you played the smelly basement show.” Thor laughs some more. “But let’s be real, you could kick my ass if you needed to.”

Thor squeezes his hand, rolls his eyes. “I probably could, yeah.”

Peter can see him about to give in. He can see the curiosity outweighing the suspicion. Or maybe it’s not curiosity. Maybe it’s something kind of like trust.

Then Peter remembers he didn’t leave everything on the ship. He’s got an ace in the hole. “My helmet,” he spits out.

“Helmet?”

“I have my helmet,” Peter says, and digs frantically into one of his jacket’s inner pockets.

“You have a helmet in your jacket?”

Peter grins. “I do.” He pulls out the mask’s earpiece, sticks it over his ear.

“What is that, a bluetooth?”

“I don’t know what that is,” Peter says again, exhaustedly.

Thor laughs. “You’ve got a whole lot to Google.” Peter is about to respond, but Thor answers him prematurely. “Right, right. You don’t know what that is either. So let’s see this helmet.”

Peter smirks, presses the button on his earpiece, expanding the helmet.

Thor scrambles back a little bit. “Holy _shit!”_

Peter laughs, presses the button again, shrinks the helmet back down again. “You alright?” he asks.

Thor nods slowly, leans in close to investigate. He folds Peter’s ear forward. “This is amazing,” he says. Peter can feel his breath. It gives him goosebumps.

Peter turns his head to face Thor. They’re really close. He clears his throat softly. “You want to try it?”

Thor’s eyes light up. “Can I?”

“Sure,” Peter says, pulls the earpiece off. “Take your hat off.”

“My hair’s really gross,” he says, but he does it anyway. It’s adorable.

Peter reaches out, pushes Thor’s long hair behind his ear, and Thor turns his head to give Peter better access. Peter can’t help indulging himself, taking a little extra unnecessary time to get Thor’s hair out of the way, fingers catching and tangling in it. “Not gross. Here,” he says, getting the ear piece in place. “Ready?” Thor nods.

Peter presses the button to expand the helmet again, and a moment later Thor’s face is covered. “Holy shit,” Thor says again, voice muffled behind the mask. “What does it do?”

“Well,” Peter starts, thinking about the highlights, “it’ll protect you against any changes in air pressure. And then there’s backup air supply, too. Plus it’ll purify the air.”

“Lot of air stuff,” Thor observes.

Peter laughs. “Yeah, well,” he trails off and gestures vaguely.

“Right,” Thor says. “Space.”

“Then there’s the display features. Thermal vision,” he says, and toggles it on for Thor.

“Oh wow,” Thor says, looking around. “You’re really hot,” he says, and it makes them both laugh. “How do you collapse it again?”

Peter leans in, takes Thor’s hand, brings it up behind his own ear. He shadows his fingers over Thor’s. “This button,” he says, and Thor presses it. The helmet shrinks down again, and Thor is beaming, just inches away from Peter’s face now.

“Unreal,” he says, leans in just a little more. “So you’re for real, aren’t you?” he says, and it isn’t really a question. It’s a realization. Acceptance. “You, like, straight-up came here from space.”

Peter nods. “I told you,” he answers softly. They’re really close, breath mingling, smelling like beer. “You still wanna see the ship?”

“I really, really do,” Thor admits, eyes lighting up a little as he does. “But I also really want to kiss you.”

“Oh, thank god,” Peter says, and closes the distance between them.

Thor’s lips are as soft as they look. He tastes like beer and french fries, and he hums sweetly when Peter kisses him.

Peter stops after a minute, rests his forehead against Thor’s. “You wanted to kiss me before you found I was from space, right?” he asks with a grin.

Thor laughs. “Yeah, I did,” he says. “Pretty much wanted to kiss you all night.” Peter blushes. “I even still wanted to when I thought you were a crazy person,” he admits, and they both start laughing.

Peter smiles. He’s warm, from the beer, from the kiss, from every stupid word Thor says. “I’m glad I managed to prove I’m not a crazy person, then.”

“I honestly might have kissed you even if you hadn’t,” Thor says. _“That’s_ how bad I wanted to kiss you.”

“God,” Peter mutters, almost embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You got me weak in the knees here.”

“Can’t help it,” Thor says. He leans in and kisses Peter. “Alright,” he says against Peter’s lips. “Let’s go see this ship.” He kisses Peter again. And again.

And _again._

Peter ends up laughing into Thor’s mouth. “You sure?”

Thor laughs, answers him between kisses. “To be honest,” (kiss), “I’m not sure what,” (kiss), “I’d regret more… Not making out with you all night,” (kiss), “or not seeing an actual spaceship.”

Peter’s still laughing. “I’ll make out with you,” (kiss), _“on_ my spaceship.”

Thor moans. “Okay, okay. Sold,” he says, and finally stops kissing Peter. “Dope song, by the way,” he observes as he climbs back over to the radio and ejects the tape, turns the van off, sticks the keys back under the driver’s seat. “Runaways. They made a movie about them,” he tells Peter, climbing to the back of the van now to open the doors.

Peter nods, only half-processing what Thor is even saying as he watches Thor stretch and bend and make his way through the van.

“You ready?” Thor asks, and holds out his hand. Peter nods again and takes it.

“Yeah,” he says, warm all over. “Let’s go.”

\---

The walk to the field is peppered with a lot of questions—plus a bit of idling to stop and kiss and paw at each other a little. But mostly, Thor is in a big hurry to see a spaceship.

“Were you into space? You know when you were a kid?” Thor asks.

“As much as any kid, I guess,” Peter answers, “I liked astronauts and all that. I loved _Star Wars.”_

“Oh man,” Thor says, “so you’ve seen all of the original trilogy, then. If you left in ‘88.”

“Yeah,” Peter answers. “Wait—original? Are there _more?”_ Peter asks excitedly.

Thor laughs. “So, I have good news and bad news,” he explains.

Thor fills him in, about how when he was a kid, they made three prequels that were famously terrible. And then a few years ago, they started making new _Star Wars_ movies again, and now there are a grand total of seven of them that Peter’s never seen.

And there’s a couple new _Indiana Jones_ movies too. One from right after Peter left—Thor’s favorite, apparently, though most people seem to prefer the original—and one from about ten years ago, that people generally hate.

Peter tries to grill him about other movies and shows, and Thor does indulge him for a bit. A lot of things get remade, “rebooted,” nowadays. But Thor only has so much patience for discussing that when he could be grilling Peter about his life in space instead.

“So what was it like at the beginning? After you got taken?” Thor asks.

Peter shrugs. “Terrifying,” he answers. “I mean, just a bunch of big, scary dudes. Like pirates. But in space. And some of them are aliens. Well, I mean, they’re all aliens. But some of them _really_ look it.”

“Jesus,” Thor says. “And you were eight?”

“I was eight,” Peter says, nodding. “Yondu was their leader. And he scared me just about as much as any of them. But he also kind of, I don’t know…” Peter trails off, reflects on the long and complicated relationship he’s had with Yondu. “He looked out for me, a lot of the time. When he wasn’t threatening to let his crew eat me.”

 _“Eat you?”_ Thor echoes, eyes wide. “Like, actually eat you? Do they eat people?”

Peter laughs a little. “I honestly don’t think they do. But it kept my ass scared enough to do what he said.”

“Like what?” Thor asks, reaches for Peter’s hand.

Peter takes it. “What Ravagers do. Steal.”

“So, really like, straight-up space pirates.”

Peter nods. “Straight-up,” he says, laughing at that. “I got pretty good at it. I was skinny and small, but I’d had the crap kicked out of me before I ever left Terra,” Peter reflects with a muted sort of sadness. The kind of sadness you sort of have to laugh about after living with it for so long. “And Yondu, well. He taught me how to fight, I guess. But I took a beating getting there.”

Thor squeezes his hand. “Jesus,” he says again. “That’s…” he trails off, stops walking. Peter stops too and looks at him. “That’s a lot.”

“Yeah,” Peter says. “It kind of is.”

Thor steps closer to him, slips a hand around his waist. “We don’t have to talk about that stuff, if you don’t want to.”

Peter shakes his head. “I don’t mind. It is what it is,” he says, leans forward tentatively. Thor meets him, kisses him softly. Peter smiles against his lips. “Although I’m sure I have cooler stories to share.”

Thor smiles back. “Oh yeah? Your Han Solo space-heist adventures?”

Peter laughs. “Totally,” he answers. “Come on,” he says, motioning forward. “Let’s keep walking.”

Thor sighs, nods in agreement. “Alright,” he says, and they start walking again. “So what’s the coolest thing you ever stole?”

Peter considers. “God,” he starts. “I’ve stolen a lot of shit,” he says, laughing, and Thor laughs too. “But the best has to be the Milano.”

“Your ship?” Thor asks, and Peter nods. “I mean, maybe it’s just because I already adjusted to the fact you have a spaceship, but I was expecting something a little more extravagant.”

Peter laughs. “Well, I’ll actually grant you I’ve stolen more extravagant things. But when I stole the Milano, I was ten years old.”

Peter looks to see Thor raise his eyebrows. “No shit?”

“No shit,” Peter answers. “Oh my god, Yondu was so mad. That’s why he gave in and finally taught me how to fly. I begged him. Like, every day. Over and over. And finally I just figured, y’know. I mean, I was a Ravager, wasn’t I? Might as well _be_ a Ravager. And I’d watched him enough times, I’d flown with enough of them on ships just like it.”

“So you just took it?” Thor asks.

Peter nods. “I did. And right at the beginning, right after I took off, I nearly put it right into the ground. But once I got it back up, it was amazing. _I_ was amazing. Even Yondu said so. I mean, not that night. That night he actually hit me. Which he, like, never really did, not when he wasn’t teaching me how to fight. But, anyway, a couple years later, when he was drunk one night, he said how he couldn’t believe the way I flew it that first time. That he was proud of me. I mean, already I figured he had to have been, because he gave me the ship, which I didn’t expect, and let me name it, and taught me how to fly it. But still. It was nice to hear him say it, finally.”

“Amazing,” Thor says, grinning ear to ear. “Why’d you name it the Milano? Was it like the cookie?”

Peter laughs. “No, man. Like Alyssa Milano.”

Thor quirks his eyebrow. “Like, _Charmed_ Alyssa Milano?” Peter raises a confused eyebrow. “Right, you wouldn’t know _Charmed_. God, what was she even on back then?”

 _“Who’s the Boss?”_ Peter answers. “I was in _love_ with her, dude.”

“That’s adorable,” Thor says, and stops walking again. Peter stops too. _“You’re_ adorable,” Thor says, and crowds him again, kisses him, a little harder than before. Peter lets him. He’s not made of stone.

God, they’re _never_ going to get to the Milano at this rate.


	4. Fucking Spaceman Boots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Record-scratch sound** Note the change in rating. There be porn ahead, and while our boys are enthusiastic and consenting, they are drunk, so err on the side of caution if that's something that makes you uncomfortable.

Eventually, against all odds, they get to the field. It takes a lot longer than it needs to, thanks to countless stops, putting each other up against trees and fences and, at one point, even setting off the alarm of a Toyota. Not to mention putting away another few beers each.

There’s two M-ships sitting in the field, the Eclector itself hovering outside Terra’s atmosphere, out of sight. Peter could have come down with Yondu, but he prefers to drive, if he can help it. He walks Thor over to the Milano. 

Thor stares at it, open-mouthed, for a at least a whole minute before managing to react verbally.

“Holy shit,” he breathes finally.

Peter smiles, smug and satisfied. “This is the Milano,” he says, unnecessarily.

“It’s…” Thor trails off, eyes scanning the ship from top to bottom, left to right. “This is a spaceship.”

Peter shrugs, laughs at Thor. “I mean, I told you.”

Thor nods, dumbstruck. “You did,” he agrees. “It’s huge.”

Peter laughs some more. “You should see the Eclector,” he points out. “That’s the one that took me. There’s a whole mess of these inside of it.”

Thor shakes his head slowly, disbelief writ across his face. “Unreal,” he says. “Totally unreal.” Peter lets him have the moment, lets him soak it all in. After a while, Thor speaks up again. “Can we go inside?”

Peter nods. “Of course we can.”

Peter brings him on board, leads him up to the flight deck and shows him some of the controls. Thor muses at them, points at things, asks what this does, what that does. Peter indulges him, smug as ever as he explains.

And while Thor listens and watches, standing behind Peter, he places his hands on Peter’s shoulders, runs them over Peter’s back, slides them down over his hips. Peter can only stay focused on the ship for so long once he feels Thor’s breath on his ear. And then Thor’s _teeth_ on his ear.

While Peter’s hands brush over the instruments, Thor’s tongue slides over the shell of his ear. “Unreal,” Thor says for the thousandth time tonight, breath hot. Peter gets chills from it. Thor sucks at Peter’s earlobe, and it’s graceless and without ceremony, and Peter thinks it might be just about the best thing he’s ever felt.

“That feels— _oh,”_ Peter stutters a bit. “That feels really nice.”

Thor hums, Peter’s earlobe between his teeth, before he says, “I think you promised something about making out with me on your spaceship,” voice all low and drunk and breathy.

“Yeah,” Peter says. “I think you’re right.” 

“Sit down,” Thor says, sliding half-around Peter so he’s standing beside him. He nods to Peter’s captain’s chair. “I want to get the whole picture of you, spaceman.”

Peter grins as Thor runs a hand along his bicep. “Yeah, alright,” he agrees. Thor kisses his jaw, wraps his arms around his neck, coaxes Peter’s face toward his own so he can slip his tongue into Peter’s mouth. This kiss is wet, and it’s soft, and it’s enough to make Peter moan. “Alright,” he says again, and untangles himself from Thor’s arms, climbs up into his chair.

 

“Damn,” Thor says, observing, appraising. Peter sits back, tries to keep grinning, but the heat between the two of them makes it tough to stay smug. Thor doesn’t make him squirm. He climbs up, straddles Peter, rocks his hips back and forth in Peter’s lap. Peter brings his hands down to grab at Thor’s ass and _squeezes._

Thor’s running his hands through Peter’s hair and pushing his hips forward against Peter’s belly, and he’s _heavy,_ honestly, he’s so heavy. Must be more than two-hundred pounds of pure muscle sitting in Peter’s lap, but Peter won’t complain. It feels amazing, having Thor on top of him like this. And it’s not like before. It’s not all sweet, soft, quiet summer nights. It’s hungry.

Peter pushes his tongue into Thor’s mouth, sweeps it clumsily past Thor’s teeth, groans. He lets his hands wander up under Thor’s thin t-shirt, lets his fingertips trace every one of Thor’s perfect abdominal muscles. And for every touch of Peter’s hands, Thor hums gratefully, wraps himself around Peter a little tighter, pulls Peter a little closer, makes it that much harder for Peter to touch him at all.

Peter wants to ask him if they can go down to his bunk. There, they can put Peter’s mix back on. They can spread out a little. Peter can touch more of Thor. Maybe, if Thor doesn’t mind, Peter can even get rid of some of his clothes—can get a little closer to matching Thor for exposed skin. Peter runs his hand up Thor’s thigh, slips his fingertips inside the short (god, the _impossibly_ short) leg of his jean shorts. He wants more, wants to be closer. He’s not sure whether he can ask for it without feeling a little lecherous.

He pulls away from Thor’s mouth, breathing heavily. He stares at Thor from an inch away, brings his other hand up to play with Thor’s long, golden hair.

Before Peter feels brave enough to ask, Thor speaks. “Where do you sleep?” he asks, breathing hard against Peter’s mouth.

Peter sighs, and it’s weak and gives all his wanting away. Thor rolls his hips. “My bunk,” Peter says breathlessly. “It’s down below us.”

Thor nods, kisses Peter again. “Can we go?”

“Yeah,” Peter answers, too eagerly. “Come on,” he says, and then, even though it practically kills him, “get up.”

Thor gets off his lap, and Peter gets a good look at him, his lips all red, his eyes all dark. He holds out his hand and Thor takes it, and then Peter leads him down the stairs.

“It’s kind of a sty,” he warns as they descend, because it is. Although Peter supposes he may as well have given that warning for the whole ship.

“I don’t mind,” Thor says, steps up behind Peter, slips his hands around Peter’s waist, kisses the back of Peter’s neck. They walk drunkenly past the table, making their way to the bunks, Peter laughing with Thor hanging all over him. “Sorry,” Thor says, obviously not meaning it. “Just can’t keep my hands off you.”

Peter blushes, turns around, Thor’s arms still wrapped around him. “No complaints,” he says, and kisses Thor as he stumbles backward. Thor keeps them on their feet, somehow. Then he breaks the kiss and Peter opens his eyes to see Thor staring behind him.

“So this is where you sleep,” Thor observes with a little smile. Peter nods. “This is so cool.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Peter agrees. There’s something really sweet, really special about bringing Thor here. It’s not as if Thor’s the first person to see it. It’s not as if Peter hasn’t brought plenty of people back here to fool around. It could just be that he’s back on Terra, back _home,_ but Peter doesn’t think so. Peter thinks is has more to do with Thor than with Terra. “Mind if I put the music back on?” Peter asks.

“Go ahead,” Thor tells him, and begrudgingly lets Peter go. Peter digs into his jacket, finds his Walkman, ejects the tape and puts it in the tape deck.

_Just hold me close, don’t ever let me go._

Peter takes a seat on his bunk, looks to Thor, gestures to the space beside him. Thor crawls back on top of him instead and they laugh into each other’s mouths some more.

It’s all so joyful and hectic as Thor pushes Peter down and sideways onto his back, braces himself on top of him. Peter indulges himself a little more as he runs his hands up the back of Thor’s thighs, and then over Thor’s ass. He can’t remember the last time he felt denim. It makes him picture the Jordache ads that used to run when he was a kid.

And then Thor pushes his hips down against Peter’s, and Peter can feel Thor hard in those tiny jean shorts, and he gets nice grip on Thor’s ass, and Thor hums and presses down again.

Peter’s hard too. He has been since they were upstairs. But now that Thor’s lying on top of him, rutting against him like this, it’s impossible to think about anything else but the feel of their cocks so close together, just about side-by-side.

Thor pulls away from Peter’s mouth, kisses his jaw, kisses just under his ear. Peter sighs at the feeling of Thor’s lips, his breath. It sends shivers throughout his whole body, and Thor’s whispering sweetly against Peter’s skin that he wants him.

“Want you too,” Peter says back, his voice high and weak.

Thor’s hand presses too hard as he pushes it between their hips, fingers playing at Peter’s belt. His breath is hot as he asks, “Can I?”

Peter nods. “Yes,” he hisses out eagerly, far too eagerly. Thor sits up, and Peter’s fingers rush to the fly of Thor’s shorts. “Can I?” he asks this time.

“Yes,” Thor answers, struggling with Peter’s belt. “God, am I just drunk,” Thor starts, laughing a bit now, “or is this some especially difficult, like, space belt?”

Peter laughs back at him. “Here,” he offers, swats Thor’s hands away, unfastens the belt himself. “Think you can handle the rest on your own?” he asks with a little smirk, just to be shitty.

“Shut up,” Thor says, still laughing, grabbing at Peter’s waistband, making quick-if-sloppy work of the button and the zipper.

Peter turns his attention back to Thor’s fly, undoes it frantically, traces a thumb along the length of Thor’s cock through the fabric of his briefs. Thor sucks in a sharp breath and abandons his work between their hips to lean forward and push his tongue back into Peter’s mouth. Peter wraps his arms around him again, lets his hands travel over Thor’s back and his hips and down the back of his shorts, and now that they’re unbuttoned, he can really get in there.

Thor hums gratefully as Peter palms his ass—firm, just more muscle like all the rest of him. Peter’s surprised he isn’t feeling more self-conscious about his own body. He feels soft and pliant against Thor, but Thor doesn’t seem to have any problem with it. Just the opposite—Thor keeps grabbing and gripping at all of Peter’s softest spots like he can’t get enough of them.

Thor pushes his hands up under the hem of Peter’s shirt, keeps hiking up his shirt until he finally pulls away from Peter’s mouth, both of them gasping, Thor saying, “Take this off.” Peter nods frantically, and the two of them shift awkwardly as Peter sits up and Thor keeps pulling at the cotton of Peter’s shirt until it slips over his head.

“Yours,” Peter says, then, before Thor can pin him down again. “Yours too,” because he’s a little desperate to see everything he’s been feeling. Thor nods and strips the soft, worn Led Zeppelin shirt off. He goes to lean forward again but Peter holds his hands out to stop him. He lets his eyes dart eagerly over Thor’s torso. “Unreal,” he breathes, and it makes Thor laugh, and it makes Thor blush.

“Had your fill yet?” Thor asks finally, and Peter smiles and pinches his nipple, and Thor laughs a little harder.

“Not sure I can imagine saying ‘yes’ to that,” Peter says, then hooks a hand behind Thor’s neck, “but c’mere.” He pulls Thor down again, savors the feeling of their bare chests pressed together, breath stuttering as Thor ruts his hips down and wiggles out of his shorts bit by bit.

Thor’s got his mouth all against Peter’s neck, his collarbone, and he’s panting and muttering that it feels so good, that Peter feels _so good,_ and everything he says makes Peter that much harder.

And then Thor’s lips make their way down Peter’s chest. He catches one of Peter’s nipples between his teeth and Peter gasps. Thor laughs against his skin, says, “Revenge,” then keeps going on down Peter’s belly, the kisses getting quicker and sloppier until he finally gets to the waistband of Peter’s underwear, exposed behind the open fly of his pants. Peter looks down at him, down over his own chest—rising and falling with every desperate breath he takes. Thor stares right back up at him, eyes dark, and nips at the waistband with his teeth.

“Jesus,” Peter says quietly, just about under his breath.

Thor kisses his belly. “I wanna blow you,” he says, and it makes Peter’s cock twitch. “God, I really wanna blow you, Peter.”

Peter nods, pushes his fingers into Thor’s hair. “I want you to,” he says.

Thor dips his fingers behind the elastic. “Yeah?” he asks, already moving to pull Peter’s underwear down.

“Yeah,” Peter says, and Thor eases back a little to let him lift his hips. He grunts as Thor pulls his pants and his underwear down his hips. And then Thor wastes no time, leaning down and licking a flat, warm stripe up the underside of Peter’s cock. _“Oh,”_ Peter moans, and looks down at Thor, and Thor looks up and _grins,_ and he does it again.

Peter tangles his fingers in Thor’s long hair, places his other hand soft on Thor’s jaw. Thor makes a sweet sound as he holds Peter’s cock in his hand, propping it up while he licks him up and down. Peter can hardly keep still, can hardly keep his hips flat against his bunk while he watches Thor’s tongue swirling around his cock, watches Thor’s eyes flit closed in between little glances up at Peter, or near-predatory looks at Peter’s cock.

Not for the first time tonight, Peter wonders what exactly is making it all so good. He guesses it’s all the moving parts. It’s Terra— _home_ —hell, it could be the very _atmosphere._ It’s the smells and the sights and the feelings he hasn’t known for two decades; it’s denim and gasoline and a summer night and stale beer.

And it’s _Thor_. Huge, strong, stupidly handsome, gentle, devastating Thor. It’s Thor that’s got his cock leaking and his heart racing and his breath shaking.

And when Thor starts to swallow him down, Peter starts humming and groaning. He can’t quite seem to stop as Thor bobs his head up and down in Peter’s lap, and Peter alternates trying to stretch down and reach some part—any part—of Thor, and relenting, letting himself lie back and revel in the feeling of it all.

“Damn,” Peter mutters, letting his head fall back, closing his eyes, rubbing circles with his fingertips against Thor’s scalp. “Damn, that’s good.”

Thor makes an appreciative sound and it sends vibrations through Peter’s cock and Peter bucks his hips up recklessly. Thor gags a little and pulls off, gasping, and Peter looks down at him, at Thor’s mouth all red and wet, his eyes dark and heavy.

“Sorry,” Peter says, rubs a thumb over Thor’s cheekbone.

Thor shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he replies breathlessly, and he leans to take Peter into his mouth again, but Peter stops him.

“Come up here,” Peter says. “Come up here and kiss me some more.” Because he does want to kiss Thor. But he also really wants to get Thor’s cock out too, wants to wrap his hand around it. Wants to wrap whatever Thor will let him wrap around it, honestly.

Thor nods and crawls back up Peter’s body. “It was okay, wasn’t it?” he asks.

Peter takes Thor’s face in his hands, strokes along Thor’s cheeks with his thumbs. “It was _very_ okay,” Peter assures him. “It’s amazing. I just really want to kiss you.” And Thor smiles, and Peter pulls his face close and kisses him. And kisses him again, and again. And then takes one hand and works it down between them. “I also really want to do this,” he says, and pushes his hand into Thor’s briefs.

Thor nods against Peter’s face and his breath gets all shallow as Peter brushes his fingers down the length of his cock.

“That alright?” Peter asks, and Thor just nods again for a moment before he manages to answer vocally.

“Yeah,” he breathes. And then says it again, just a little louder. “Yeah.”

Peter smiles, wraps his hand around Thor’s length and gives him a few strokes. “Good,” Peter says softly. “Want you to feel real good.”

Thor pants against Peter’s cheek, slides his tongue over Peter’s jaw. “Let me— _oh,”_ he stutters as Peter tightens his grip just a little, “I wanna get out of these shorts.”

Peter groans, bites at Thor’s bottom lip. “Mm, _please_ get out of these shorts,” he says.

Thor smiles wide and laughs softly. “Okay,” he says, and then, “okay,” again, as he builds up the strength to sit up and get off of Peter. He stands between the bunks and his shorts just about fall off of him, and then he peels his briefs off as well, kicking them aside. Peter stares unabashedly at the sight of him standing there, naked, cock hard and red.

“Fuck,” Peter sighs, and figures now’s as good a time as any to even things out. He lifts his hips and pushes his pants and his underwear down, and Thor rushes forward to try and get Peter’s boots off.

Peter can’t help laughing as Thor struggles with them, muttering, “Fucking spaceman boots.”

“You’re just hopeless, aren’t you?” Peter teases, and Thor laughs too, giving up and kissing Peter’s chest, getting completely in the way as Peter gets up to handle his boots himself. After a lot of giggling and shifting, Peter gets them off, says, “Alright,” and then Thor’s all business again, tugging Peter’s pants the rest of the way off and his underwear along with them.

Then, Thor climbs up on top of Peter, straddles him, leans forward to kiss him again and Peter shivers at the feel of Thor’s cock resting on top of his own. “Touch me again,” Thor says, groping for Peter’s hand, rocking his hips softly on top of Peter’s. He takes Peter by the wrist, pulls until Peter’s fingers brush his cock again. _“Fuck,”_ Thor swears. “Fuck, _please.”_

Jesus, to hear him beg like that, to know this unbelievably beautiful, _perfect_ person wants Peter’s touch so badly that he’s got to put Peter’s hand there himself… Peter can hardly believe it. But it’s happening, however unbelievable. Thor’s here, on top of him. Wanting him. “Yeah,” Peter says, kisses Thor, wraps his hand around Thor’s cock again. “I got you,” he says as he starts jerking him in long, slow strokes.

Thor’s wriggling on top of him, moaning against Peter’s mouth, graceless and needy. He sits up, starts pushing his hips forward impatiently, and Peter can see frustration written on his face before he even whines, “More.”

Peter bites his lip, breathes for a moment, watching Thor look so helpless and desperate in his lap. He strokes Thor faster. “Like that?”

“Yes,” Thor hisses. Peter nods, pleased as anything, just wants to give Thor everything he needs, anything he wants or begs for. He keeps going as Thor dips down puts his forehead against Peter’s.

Peter sighs, gathers Thor’s hair in his free hand, tugs gently but insistently, keeps lifting his head to press kisses to Thor’s lips. “Anything you want,” he says. He means it.

“I want—” Peter kisses him, “—want to—” Peter kisses him again, “—want to suck you some more—” Peter groans against Thor’s mouth, “—before I come.”

Jesus. Peter nods. _“God,_ please. Your mouth felt so fucking good.” Peter lets go of Thor’s hair, runs his hand over Thor’s shoulder, down his back. _“All of you_ feels so fucking good.”

Thor smiles against Peter’s mouth, kisses him. Then his cock slips out of Peter’s hand as he kisses hastily down Peter’s body again. Peter hardly knows what to do with himself as Thor’s lips ghost down his belly, but his hands find their way into Thor’s hair again, gathering it behind Thor’s head. “Like my hair, huh?” Thor says, breath hot on Peter’s cock.

Peter hums. “I do,” he answers, rubs a tress between his fingers. “It’s beautiful.” Thor looks up at him. “You’re beautiful,” he says, too softly, heart racing. Thor smiles, blinks slowly, licks at the head of Peter’s cock without breaking eye contact.

“Not so bad yourself,” Thor sighs, and finally turns his attention fully toward Peter’s cock again, takes it in his hand, strokes him a few times before taking him into his mouth again.

Peter groans low at the feeling of being buried in the heat of Thor’s mouth again. Thor lets go with his hand, starts swallowing Peter down deeper, and Peter feels his cock slipping into Thor’s throat and it’s so _warm_ and wet and perfect. Peter just hums and whines and somewhere in his mind he knows it’s a little too loud, a little too desperate, but he can’t help it. And the pleased, hungry sounds Thor’s making around Peter’s cock make Peter think that Thor’s just fine with that.

Thor’s got his hands running up and down the insides of Peter’s thighs, thumbs rubbing and pressing at the crease of his groin. Peter’s strength is wearing thin, even after all the beer. Thor’s so big and strong and sexy and as unbelievable as it is, Thor _wants_ him—it’s clear with every sound he makes. Every move. And Peter isn’t made of stone. No. Right now he feels just the opposite, soft and malleable and weak, so _weak._

“I’m gonna come,” he warns, tries not to buck his hips up too hard as he gives into the feeling building inside him. Thor hums around him, puts strong hands on Peter’s hips to hold him down as he presses as far forward as he can, Peter’s cock buried in his throat, Thor’s nose buried in the curls at the base of Peter’s cock. “Jesus,” Peter mutters, back arching, legs tensing as he spills into Thor’s throat.

Thor makes a deep, guttural sound rumbling around Peter’s cock. He swallows and swallows as Peter keeps on coming, and Peter damn-near has tears in his eyes once Thor finally pulls off his cock with an obscene _slurp._ Peter takes a moment to catch his breath, but it’s only a moment, and then he’s saying, “C’mere. God, c’mere,” and reaching down lazily for Thor.

Thor’s skin is hot to the touch, sweat beading on his back as he climbs once again up Peter’s body. He lingers, mouth open, over Peter’s face for a moment, and Peter’s not sure why, so he wraps his arms around Thor’s neck and pulls him down into a kiss, pushing his tongue into Thor’s mouth, tasting his own come.

“What do you want?” Peter asks after he manages to pull away, and Thor is pushing his fingers through Peter’s hair and sliding his hand down Peter’s side and pressing his body down against him and, _fuck,_ Peter will give him anything.

“Jerk me off again,” Thor slurs against Peter’s jaw, sloppy, to-the-point. “I wanna come,” he says, drags his lips over to Peter’s ear. He sucks at Peter’s earlobe again, and it gives Peter goosebumps. “Just make me come,” Thor whispers, ruts against Peter’s groin.

Peter nods, and nods some more, and then eventually he chokes out, “Okay,” as he reaches down between them and grips Thor’s cock again. “God,” he mutters as he starts stroking Thor again, still just floored at the feeling of him so big and hard in his hand.

And as Peter’s mind grows a little calmer, a little clearer, Thor just gets more frantic. “You’re amazing,” he says against Peter’s ear. “Don’t stop,” he pleads.

“I won’t,” Peter assures him, voice stronger now. He pets Thor’s hair with his free hand. “Whatever you need.”

Thor nods against Peter’s cheek. “Little faster,” he says.

Peter picks up his pace. “Like that?” he asks, moves his hand from Thor’s head and slides it down Thor’s back.

“Yeah,” Thor pants. “Yeah, just like that.” He’s bucking his hips into Peter’s grip, fucking up into Peter’s fist.

“Okay,” Peter tells him. “Okay,” and keeps going, slides his hand further down Thor’s back and over his ass, squeezing Thor’s cheek and pulling him that much closer. Thor groans and takes Peter’s face in his hands and lifts his head and kisses him, and it’s wet and messy and adoring.

Then he pulls away and puts his head beside Peter’s again, forehead pressing down into the pillow, hips jerking gracelessly with Peter’s strokes. “Oh, I’m close,” Thor whines.

Peter nods. “You gonna come for me?” he asks.

It’s an unnecessary question, but it makes Thor keen and nod some more and gasp out, _“Uh-huh.”_

Then Thor’s hips are stuttering and he’s groaning and Peter feels him coming between them, smearing between their bellies and over Peter’s hand. “That’s it,” Peter says, encouraging, stroking him through it. “That’s good.”

It feels like a dream, like some filthy, beautiful, _perfect_ dream. Peter’s glad that he came already, that his head is quieter, that he can savor all the little sounds Thor’s making in his ear. He hopes he never forgets them.

When Thor finally stops coming, he lets his weight down on Peter, his back rising and falling as he catches his breath. Peter feels like Thor could very well crush him, but he doesn’t care. He’ll let Thor lie there all fucking night if he wants to.

“That was hot,” Thor finally says, breathing heavily.

Peter pets the back of his head. “That was _really_ hot,” he agrees. _“You’re_ really hot.”

Thor makes a sweet sound against Peter’s neck, runs a hand down Peter’s side. “You’re amazing.” He sighs and pushes himself up onto his knees. “Do you, uh,” he starts, looking down at his come-covered abs. “Do you have something to clean up with?”

Peter considers, looking around, wondering whether he’s actually got a clean towel on board. He doesn’t think so. He picks his discarded t-shirt up off the floor. “Here,” he offers. Thor raises an eyebrow but takes the shirt with a smile. “I guess I’m kind of a slob,” Peter adds, suddenly having to deal with being capable of embarrassment again, when two minutes ago he was asking Thor to come for him.

Thor laughs. “Man, I just spent a month in a van. Don’t worry.” He stands up and walks toward Peter. “Here,” he says, putting one hand on Peter’s shoulder and using the other to wipe his come off Peter’s belly with the shirt. Peter bites his lip, can’t believe how warm it makes him feel to have Thor’s face so close to his, even after they were just wrapped all around each other. “Made quite a mess, didn’t I?” Thor says.

Peter smiles. “I don’t mind,” he says, and takes the chance before he comes down from this high to reach out, swipe a fingertip over Thor’s abs, and brings it up to his own lips. He sucks Thor’s come off his finger, manages to maintain eye contact with Thor while he does it, watches Thor’s brow furrow and his eyes go all soft and his mouth make a sweet little _o_ shape.

“Damn,” Thor sighs, and leans forward to kiss Peter. Then he cleans himself up. Then he kisses Peter a little more. Eventually they manage to pull away from each other long enough to find their clothes and start getting dressed. “God, it must be late,” Thor observes, and it makes Peter’s heart break just a little bit.

“Did you want to head back?” Peter asks, already dreading the prospect of Thor saying ‘yes.’

“I don’t,” Thor says, zips up his shorts, walks over to where Peter is sitting and climbs onto his lap again. “I really don’t.”

Peter smiles, runs his hands over Thor’s muscled back. “Thank god,” he says. “Wish I never had to let you go,” he goes on, though he almost wishes he wouldn’t. He knows he’s coming on strong. He kisses Thor’s bare shoulder and keeps going anyway. “I’d take you with me if I could.”

Thor leans back and stares at Peter, eyes wide with surprise. And something else. Pain. Longing.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says.

Thor shakes his head. “It’s alright,” he says. “I just… Somehow didn’t really take the time to think you’re going to be so far away. Like, _far_ -far.” Peter nods. “Jesus,” Thor says, and leans forward again, puts his forehead against Peter’s. “You’re not going back to the city, or to Cali, or even London or something.” His voice is so sad. “You’re straight-up going back to space.”

Peter can’t help that his mouth quirks up. “Straight-up,” he echoes.

Thor huffs a sad little laugh. “Shut up,” he says, and kisses Peter. “I, like… I _really_ like you, Peter.”

Peter nods against Thor’s head. “I know,” he says consolingly, sympathetically. “I really like you too,” he tells him, and kisses him again.

They stay like that, wrapped around each other, until Thor’s phone starts buzzing.


End file.
